‘Hey, sis!’
‘Eleanora! How are you? Is it going well?’
It’s… different,’ I reply, stabbing at the noodles with a fork to let them cool. ‘We’ve done some meditating and worked on placing an order with the universe. People are really getting into it, it's so surreal.’
‘But not you?’
‘You really have to ask?
‘I guess not,’ she replies with a chortle. ‘What are the people like? Anyone interesting?’
By ‘people’ she means ‘men’, and by ‘interesting’ she means shag-worthy.
‘Yep, they’re all unbelievably arousing,’ I reply, eating my first forkful. ‘It’s like one big cock-fest. I expect to be pregnant by Wednesday.’
‘Excellent,’ she replies dryly. ‘I’m sure all the wealthy single men will be lining up to bang the sardonic loner who’s calling her sister instead of mingling.’
‘Actually, there’s a journalist here and he wants to be my friendandhe’s one of the only men who isn’t sockless and in loafers.’
She perks up again. ‘Good-looking?’
I continue eating. ‘I guess,’ I reply, giving nothing away. If I say he’s attractive, she’ll only drive up here and give him my business card. ‘He’s kind of Negan fromThe Walking Dead-ish, if Negan was into depressing eighties bands and scared of hairbrushes. You know – rugged. Not really my type.’
‘What? You love a rugged type, you liar. Negan’s not reallymytype though, I’m far more Team Rick.’ She sighs. ‘He’s better dressed.’
There’s a brief silence while I eat, and she takes sides in an imaginary zombie war where only the well-presented survive.
‘Anyway, I need to get going soon. Tell Charlie I’ll call her tonight.’
‘Will do. Though, I might take her for dinner somewhere nice. Maybe the cinema too?’
‘Faith, she’ll have homework! Don’t start messing with her routine, she’ll—’
‘Loveyoubyeeeee!’
She hangs up. Dammit. If I return home and find that Charlie has a detention, has missed class or pierced something, I’ll murder Faith.
I scroll through Facebook, killing the last ten minutes before I need to trudge back up the hill to the main house. Geraldine Palmer, a girl I went to school with, is asking anyone if the chemist is open, Wendy Smith has posted her twelfth selfie of the morning and Derek MacDonald thinks he might have bird flu. I sigh and close the app. I’m not even friends with these people. It should change its name to ‘Acquaintance-book’ or ‘I’m-too-polite-to-block-you-book.’ When did I become such a misanthrope? I’m not like this at the café, but then again, my customers don’t bombard me with game invites or make me look at photos of their toddlers.
Steeling myself for bootcamp round two, I tidy up my ponytail and apply some tinted lip balm. My foundation still looks fresh and hasn’t started to settle into my under-eye lines yet, so I feel relatively protected against judgemental glare. I open my front door to be unexpectedly greeted by Will who’s propped up against my wheelie bin.
‘How long have you been standing there?’ I ask.
‘About five minutes.’ He sniffs and rubs his hands together.
‘There’s this thing called knocking,’ I say, locking the door behind me. ‘It’s really useful and far less stalkery.’
I commence walking up the road towards the house.
‘True,’ he replies, following behind, ‘but then you would have invited me in and well, I think we both know how that would end.’
‘With me asking you to leave?’
‘Exactly.’ He grins. ‘I’m too fragile for that kind of rejection.’
Normally, this type of arrogant behaviour would annoy the hell out of me, but for some reason, I’m not mad. I’m more intrigued. I feel like I’ve been sparring with Will my entire life, which is both heartening and a bit unsettling.
‘You’re extremely sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ I remark.
